Miguel O'hara Mask Novels & Stories

And I swear to all the saints that the floor looked liquid when he passed to my side and seemed to offer me an even wider smile when he bent down "I was not so sure about the smile because of the white mask he wore" and then choose an olive oil straight from the box, which I held with trembling hands and which they grabbed so tightly on the cardboard that he even

Her eyes fidgeted between him and her target before laughing nervously. "I-- w-who are you?" she asked before gulping, waiting for the target to fall to the ground. He chuckled lightly, keeping his gaze on hers. He raised his right hand and removed the masquerade mask he was wearing. "The mafia boss who's hosting this event," he introduced. Her eyes shifted back to him, having a clear view of his face despite being in a dimmed room. He had bright blue eyes, a defined nose and jawline, arched brows, and seducing pink lips. "S-say that again?" Keisha was flabbergasted.

"Good question. I like your questions. So, let's meet. You promised me last month." "Where should I meet you?" "Wait a minute, I haven't looked up the place yet. I'll send you the location right away, and please don't be late because I have to go back to Moscow today." Elia Pinot acted like Oriaga's master, who could easily order everything. "Hm." "How about it? Don't forget to wear a mask and hat, and I'm sure you don't want to be recognized by others, right?" Oriaga didn't answer; he quickly ended his call before throwing the phone and falling on the bed's surface.

"Don't lie to me. Not anymore." He looked at her. The mask. The wig. The body he'd memorized. The voice that had haunted him. "How long?" Miguel asked quietly. "How long were you planning on keeping this secret?" "What secret?" Red tried to pull away, but Miguel's grip held. "I don't know what you're talking about. " "Liar." In one swift motion, Miguel reached up and tugged. The red wig came off in his hand, the mask tangling in it.

"I must wear a mask on stage." I looked at him in confusion. "A mask? Why?" Francis hesitated, and for a moment, I thought he wasn't going to answer. "My family... they wouldn't want me to be exposed to the public or enter the entertainment industry," he explained, his eyes clouding over. I was curious, but I knew I didn't have the right to pry. "Okay, I'll make you a mask," I said, trying to sound casual. I quickly got to work, crafting a design for a crystal diamond mask. When I handed it to Francis, he was stunned. "How did you manage to pull this off so quickly?" he asked, his eyes wide with admiration.

“That does little to reassure me.” Brandon leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Everyone here wears masks. Staff included. Patrons remain anonymous, and identities are protected. Think of it as… academic masquerade.” Hart reached into a sleek black box resting beside him and produced a finely crafted mask. It was matte black with subtle silver detailing—elegant. “For you,” he said, offering it with a small smile. Noah hesitated before taking it. The material was smooth beneath his fingertips, cool and unfamiliar. It concealed the upper half of his face—just enough to render him unrecognizable.

Rome would be the last person on earth Tim would want her speaking to. The mask he was going to wear was laying on his dresser. He’d picked it up from a costume store on his way home from his latest audition. The mask covered his eyes and nose. It was a dark blue with gold around the rim. He figured he’d still be fairly recognizable unless he did his hair differently. Rather than parting it so that half of it fell over his eye and the rest spiked on top of his head, he decided to comb it all flat tonight and slick it back. He should’ve told Ella so she’d know what to look for, but part of him was excited to see if she could figure out who he was.

I scream as he makes the mistake of looking straight into my eyes. Ensnared by my power, he jerks back instantly and lets go, but it doesn’t matter. Four other men still have me pinned. My dumb ass should’ve commanded the men holding me to kill each other, but I wasn’t thinking. “Hold her head but don’t look into her eyes, you idiot,” Oliver mutters. He leans on a wooden beam and watches. The man shakes his head quickly and holds my head again, his eyes averting mine. Zao walks from the far end of the room and ceremoniously lifts an iron half‑mask. The kind used at masquerades. It’s silver, beautifully detailed and embroidered, but thick—at least half an inch of metal, and even thicker aroun

My eyes started to wander around. Suddenly, it stopped at the sight a man dressed as Zee described. Tall, slender stature, a gold watch, the silver brooch and everything... it was Rafael, I was certain. He only stood there eyes locking with mine, hands tucked in his pocket, that slim diamond neck chain that drove attention to his open chest. On his face was a black Venetian mask with gold designs on it, covering half his face just like mine, but unlike his mine had feathers.

"A masquerade element. For a corporate dinner." "It won't seem out of place," Oliver said. "Halloway Industries has a reputation for a certain amount of theatrical exclusivity when it comes to major announcements. It gives you a layer of protection without making Grace or Lucas suspicious about why the CEO's face isn't immediately visible." Liana studied the mask a moment longer before looking up at him, something warm cutting briefly through the tension in her chest. "Thank you," she said quietly. "For thinking of this. For thinking of me."